Sunday Morning
by Zazzles the Sandbird
Summary: Okay, okay, I felt like writing some idiotic GerIta fluff for no particular reason, so here. And yes, I know Italy doesn't really snore, but I'm too proud of my zombie analogy to get rid of it, so...yeah. Also, this was originally intended to be a oneshot, but I'm honestly not sure exactly where this is going, so I guess Chap. 2 will be up soon. Pastaaaaaaa!


**Hello again! This is my first Hetalia fic, obviously, and I just want to say 3 things:**

**It's also on DA under the same title! I'm religiouscornrose237. Comment and favorite if you think it's worthy!**

**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA AXIS POWERS, WORLD SERIES, OR BEAUTIFUL WORLD. THAT IS ALL PROPERTY OF THE LOVELY AND BRILLIANT HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA. Ve~ that's taken care of.**

**It was tons of fun to write and it's super fluffy, so prepare yourself. Enjoy!**

_Zzz...ve...zzz...ve...zzz_

Germany opened one eye and sighed. As usual, Italy's snoring had woken him up far too early, even for him. He opened his other eye and rolled over. Italy's look of absolute peace, a vague smile lighting up his face even in slumber, both greeted and comforted Germany. After all, that look was one of the reasons he bothered to get up and face the day at all, one of the few things he associated with true home, rather than just six sides of whatever building materials happened to have been used. He grinned discreetly, trying and failing to hide the small happiness he felt every morning when he first saw his beautiful, his happy, _his _Feliciano - although every time he thought of this (in other words, multiple times a day...in other words, whenever he happened to catch even the slightest glimpse of Italy - or even anything _associated _with him, such as pasta, white cloth, pizza, fine art, etc.), he couldn't figure out one thing - was Italy's name ironic or just coincidental? Being unsure of what truly defined irony, as most people are, he often just gave up and went back to whatever activity was occupying his time at the moment. He had come close to figuring it out once (after borrowing some literature and English books, plus a dictionary, from England - it had taken some convincing, but Germany got him to agree to it on the terms that it counted as England's wedding gift, and if so much as one corner was folded or one page was torn or stained, Germany would receive a lifetime subscription to absolute hell from him - to which Germany responded "What are you going to do, become my personal chef?" That resulted in him actually having to pay for the books, which he did not debate, despite very much wanting to, it having been a long day and him wanting some time alone to think), but then...let's just say, he got a little distracted. Take from that what you will.

Germany rolled back over and out of bed, careful not to wake up the saucy angel lying next to him. He shuffled across the floor, the dry skin of his bare feet making a sort of scraping, swishing sound. Hearing this, Germany proceeded to tiptoe the rest of the way out of the room. He knew he shouldn't worry so much. Italy slept like the living dead and snored like the chainsaw used to kill them. At the same time, though, Germany knew he simply couldn't help it. And it wasn't surprising, considering how much he cared for the cute, sweet young thing lying prone on his twin mattress (he hadn't had time to get a bigger sized bed when Italy first came to live with him, things being kind of insanely hectic around his house, and now...well, he didn't really want to, for obvious reasons).

He crept down the hallway and into his - no, _their _- kitchen. It was still weird for him to think of everything he owned as now being half Italy's, even in theory. He shook his head clear and opened his - ugh, _**their**_** - **pantry. He took various food items out one by one, managing (without even trying) to not disrupt his intricate sorting system. He finally found half a loaf of God-knows-how-old homemade _Vollkombrot_. _I really should start baking again, _he thought._ I've been meaning to, yes, but things have been so busy. Between all of the country visits (even the Allies! Even ENGLAND, for goodness sake! How could he possibly have thought it was a good idea to bring those scones so soon after everything, especially with Italy's sensitive stomach...?) and Italy bounding around the house like an idiot ten times more than usual, there simply hasn't been time for...well...for me. And while that's not necessarily a bad thing, I won't have us starving because of it. Alright then, guess I should start putting together a list for tomor - wait, no, Saturday. I almost forgot what tomorrow is. Heh. Who would've thought such a trivial date would matter so much only a few hundred years later..._

Germany chuckled softly at the thought, and the noise seemed to snap him back into reality. He continued rummaging through the pantry and turned up what used to be a jar of orange marmalade...well, it still was, but just barely. _Well, I suppose there's enough left for a slice or two of bread, _he thought. He left the bread and jar on his counter and turned to his refrigerator. He opened the door to pull out a slice of ham, only to realize there was none. Then he remembered the pizza he and Italy had made together last night. Extra cheese, plenty of peppers, mushrooms, olives, pepperoni...and ham. So much that there was none left, despite there being half a package when they started. Well, it was worth it. Cooking together, eating together, feeding each other, trying and failing to imitate that silly (but romantic, at least according to Italy) eating-one-piece-of-pasta-but-with-two-people-and-then-they-end-up-kissing thing...with a slice of pizza. Well, technically just the crust, but still. It's not like it mattered, though. They had certainly _made_ it work...

Germany giggled like a schoolgirl at the thought, then spun around, mortified, to make sure absolutely no one could possibly have witnessed it. He really needed to learn some self control. Well, that is, it's not like he minded the fact that he'd been laughing a lot more lately, and it's not like he didn't know why, but the German pride will not be injured or ignored for the sake of _romance_. God forbid. Yes, at times, such a rule might seem ridiculous, but his colleagues' respect for and even fear of him was worth the price of keeping his emotions in check occasionally. And it's not like he never let himself show happiness or sadness or even fear sometimes - just, not all the time. Italy _did_ have a strange way of bringing out Germany's sensitive side, but even with him around, it was still easy enough to keep a poker face...most of the time. There had been times when he would have preferred to keep everything inside where it was safe, but somehow Italy tugged it out into the open...even if he wasn't even there. He had learned a lot of things from Italy...odd habits, vocal tics, and, of course, the benefits of an afternoon _siesta_. One thing he had learned that part of him wished he hadn't and another part was sort of glad he did - sensitivity. How to freely express his emotions without feeling vulnerable. He wasn't quite as flamboyant as Italy, and he probably never would be, but he was making progress, and in a way, he was sort of proud of himself - not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, even Italy...no, _especially _Italy. He wasn't taking any chances after what he refused to call anything but 'the video incident'...now _that _had pissed him off - a lot. Naturally, he couldn't stay mad, though, and of course, one thing led to another...

He sighed. Life could be so complicated sometimes. For example, when you get lost in thought and forget to close the refrigerator, so now you've been standing in front of bursts of cold air for about 10 minutes in nothing but boxers and a tank top and are just now realizing how cold you are. Germany turned back and shut the door, shivering. He stood there for a second, trying to remember what he had been doing, when suddenly he felt inexplicably warm. Tired and disoriented as he was, it took him a few seconds to notice the arms wrapped gently around him. He looked down just long enough to hide a smile, then turned his head and kissed Italy on the cheek.

_"Guten morgen, mein wenig Italien_. Why are you up so early? Did I wake you?" Germany winced involuntarily as he thought of the noise he must have made rummaging around the kitchen as he had been. Italy didn't seem to be bothered though. Then again, nothing seemed to truly bother him - except seeing someone sad and not being able to do anything about it. Obviously, that wasn't happening right now, though, so Italy was as bright and cheery as if it were noon.

"Oh, no, Germany. It wasn't you at all. A little _incubo _woke me up, that's all. That and the sunlight in the windows. It's always so pretty outside in your country...although I have to admit, mine's just a little prettier, hehe."  
Germany smiled inwardly. His country was far from 'pretty', especially in comparison to Italy, but hey, if Feliciano wanted to live up to his name, it was fine with him. He turned around completely and smiled at Italy. Then he realized something.

"Wait a minute..._incubo_...a nightmare? Oh, Italy, what happened?"

Italy suddenly gasped. "Oh, Germany, it was terrible! I dreamed that all the Italian food in the world has disappeared! The pasta, the pizza, even the olive oil! Even the _virgin _olive oil! _All_ gone..._and..._' Italy paused dramatically. '...it had all been replaced!"

Germany bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Replaced? ...With what?" he managed to choke out.  
"With...with _English food_.' Italy squeaked in horror, as though the mere thought were enough to make him want to run and hide under a blanket, and squeezed Germany tighter. 'Oh, I am _so _glad it was just a dream, Germany! I do not think I could live in such a world!"

Germany didn't doubt that.

"Hey, I have _una buona idea_, Germany,' Italy said, suddenly tearing out of Germany's grasp and bounding around the kitchen. 'After we eat a little bit, let's go find the radio China gave us and listen to some music, eh? America just gave me this really great CD from an American band. I forget their name (it was a color, I think...or maybe a number?) but they're really good! America says the CD is a few years old but the band is still really popular over there and it still sells pretty well so I guess it must be good, at least to Americans. I don't really know much about American tastes in music but, hey, we might as well give it a try! What do you think, Germany?" Italy stopped and looked at Germany, grinning from ear to ear.

"Umm...well..." Germany, still feeling a bit lethargic, and knowing that if they played any music, Italy would want to dance til dark (or at least his next _siesta_), stuttered as he tried to make up his mind. "I...er...umm..." He sighed. "Well...I guess that would be alright...just a song or two, though. I'm not sure I'm up for an entire CD today."

"_Ve~_!" Italy suddenly ran over to Germany, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into a warm embrace. "Ah, it will be so fun! I can't wait until after breakfast! Well, okay, yes I can, because my tummy is crying out to me as we speak, but still, we'll have such a good time, won't we? It will be so happy and dancy and...and..._romantic..._" Italy smiled a little mischevously as he leaned back to stare into Germany's eyes. "Don't you think so, _la mia Germania_?"

Germany blushed as he returned Italy's intense gaze. "Well...I...hehe. Yes, of course."

Italy smiled even bigger (if that was even possible). "Good. I'm happy."

Germany chuckled. "I can see that."

And suddenly, they drew still closer (again, if that was even possible), and their lips connected. As they kissed, they both couldn't help but marvel at how every one of their kisses managed to be just as wonderful and passionate as the first one - well, their first one _as a couple_, anyways. Of course, it was hard to tell which kiss that had been, as it was hard to tell exactly when they crossed the line between friendship and romance. Not that either of them minded.

They pulled apart slowly, reluctantly, never allowing their gaze to leave each other's eyes. Italy pressed his nose lightly against Germany's, leaning his forehead against Germany's forehead, his eyelids lowered slightly, and whispered "I noticed how tired you were when I walked in...did that wake you up at all? Or do you need a little more love before you can really be yourself again?"

Germany lifted his left hand and caressed Italy's cheek. "Hmm...I think I'm alright for now, but who knows? I may get tired sometime during the day...and if it's not 3:00...well..." He cracked a small grin. "I may need a little pick-me-up."

Italy smiled warmly. "Alright then. I'll be waiting." A couple pecks on the cheek and Italy was suddenly across the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry. Germany blinked, his arms still hanging in the air. He slowly lowered them and chuckled as he watched his husband shuffling through their food, rearranging cans, jars, and packages, and generally making a mess of things. "You're even faster and lighter on your feet than the day I met you...almost superhumanly so."

Italy turned and regarded Germany, amused. "Really? Well, that's nice. I've always dreamed of being a superhero, ever since I was a little boy...just like every other little boy..." He turned back to the pantry, bracing himself for what he knew would come next, just as it did every time Italy said something like that. _Oh, but Italy, you know you weren't like every other little boy. Just look where you are now. Look at this house, look at me...look at yourself. There are so many special things about you. You know what I say? I say if you want to (fill in the blank, i.e.: be a superhero), then (fill in the blank, i.e.: be a (fill in the blank [curse word], i.e.: goddamn) superhero). No one's stopping you._ Yes, every time Germany gave this little speech, Italy knew he was only trying to be supportive, trying to help Italy be the best he could be, considering...well, his whole life, really (ugh, it hurt to think about himself and his many, many failings)...but...it got very, _very _annoying after a while...

Well, at least his intentions were good - and hey, it's not like Italy hadn't caused it by saying he was 'just like every other little boy' yet again. Yeah, he could take some responsibility, and yeah, he could let Germany feel like the real husband in this relationship. It wasn't so bad. But...the words he was hearing...they weren't the usual words. They were...hmm?

"Well, you might want to try slowing down every once in a while. For one thing, it gives you more time to...well, to appreciate life and everything it holds, both good and bad. For another, it gives you more time with me..." Germany crossed the kitchen and placed his hands on Italy's waist. "And for yet another...you're destroying our pantry." He laughed and gave Italy a gentle push toward the doorway. "Let me handle breakfast. You go relax on the couch or something. Enjoy your early morning. I'll come get you when it's ready."

Italy smiled yet again - a little more weakly than usual, but not noticeably so. "_Ve~_...okay, Germany. Again, I'll be waiting." He winked and walked calmly out of the kitchen, trying to slow down a bit from his usual pace. Now _that_ was noticeable...at least, to Germany. Germany twisted his mouth to the side, looking both content and wistful, then blew a breath of air out of his nostrils, making a barely audible sound, and turned back to the pantry. Italy sighed a little (again, a barely audible sound) as he walked away.


End file.
